American Psycho:The Anger Arises
by Kush n Latex
Summary: Patrick Bateman is your average Wall Street junkie, except for a few minor details... Don't forget to review so I'm not just posting for no one :)
1. Chapter 1

This apartment used to be ravishing, flawless, sterile. But when **_She _**stepped into it, the property value took a pummel. Neira Lace is her name, well one of her names. She has so many, I just can't keep up. But that's what she told me to call her when we first met. No, Neira is not a call girl or anything. Even though it sounds like she is. Neira is a local assassin. She doesn't like it when I call her that, she prefers hit man, or mechanic. I don't know why I spend my time with her. It's not like we're in any sexual relations or anything. I mean she's way beneath me. Just her profession alone is beneath me. But, here she is for the umpteenth time sprawled out on my one hundred thirty thousand dollar Ron Arad white leather limited addition sofa. This is not what I want to see after coming home from dealing with Paul. That no class having arrogant bastard thought he could flaunt his business card right in my face as if everything were fine. Ugh, and I smell like that otiose doofus and his dog from the alley. I set my briefcase down on the kitchen counter, and start washing my hands. Neira hears me and her head pops up like an alert dog. "Oh! Hey there, old chap. How was your day?" She says to me. Her unnecessarily loud footsteps are getting closer and closer to me. "Why are you in my apartment, Neira?" I say hastily to her. She leans her elbow on the counter next to the sink to get a better look at me. Her eyes start to graze down to my wet hands, a smile growing on her unblemished, ebony face. "There's only one person who can get you this worked up. That Allen dude. You killed him?!" Neira exclaims. I shake my hands, getting the excess droplets from my hands, and then grab a nearby towel. "No, Neira, I didn't kill him. And you don't have a key, so how do you always manage to get in?" I ask. She crosses her arms, looking a bit disappointed. "I'm a criminal, Bateman. I have my ways. And back to the main subject, whose blood is that on your hands then?" I start to panic. There's still some of that scum's blood on my perfect, manicured hands? I let out a deep breath when I notice that my hands are clean. "It doesn't matter whose blood it is. It's not Paul Allen's." I start walking to my bedroom, Neira close behind.

"Oh, so that's some innocent person's blood on your hands because you didn't have the balls to kill Mr. Allen yet. Am I right?" Shit, she's right. But will I ever admit that out loud? Never. Neira is the only one who can read me like a book. And I loathe every minute of it. "Listen, Pat-" I abruptly turn around to face her. We're inches apart from each other. Paul Allen and Neira are the only human beings who can get me fighting mad. But Neira is the only one who I can show my maddening rage in front of. "Do **not **call me _Pat_. It's either Patrick or Bateman, or both at the same time. But **_never _**just _Pat. _Do I make myself clear?" I say it almost in a whisper. She rolls her eyes, but nods. "Yeah, whatever. But before you interrupted me, **_Patrick_**, I was gonna say that if ya hate 'im so bad, you should just let me kill 'im if you don't want the blood on your hands. "I turn back around and continue to my room. Again, her footsteps close behind. "I mean, it makes so much sense. You hate him with a passion, but you're so _high classed _that it would look bad for you to kill a person from your circle. I do this for a living, ya know," she explains. I can't believe I'm even entertaining the thought.

I strip out of my clothes, put on a towel, and then head to my bathroom that over looks eighty first street. "No," I simply say as I slather on my mint face mask, then hop into my glass shower. "No? What do ya mean, no?" Neira says as if she's insulted. "I mean no, Neira. If someone's going to kill Paul Allen, it's going to be me." She takes a seat on my sink vanity, arms crossed of course. "I wanna meet this Paul Allen dude." That comment makes me stop washing to look at her. "Why?" I ask. Neira shrugs her shoulders. "Because someone that can make you this mad has to be a legend." I grit my teeth. "He's no kind of legend whatsoever. And no you will not meet him." I go back to scrubbing. "Well, I still think this dude needs to be taken out. If he gets you this mad. Anyways, I'll be in your kitchen." The door closes behind her. She's right; he does need to be taken out. Paul is an annoying little prick who flaunts it as if he actually has it. Well, he kind of does have it. I turn the water off and then head back to my room. But it would be easier if Neira took care of Paul for me. Took care? Dammit, I'm starting to sound like Neira, and that's not an appetizing thought. I slip on my flannel pants then meet her in the kitchen. She's eating the rest of my favorite strawberry ice cream. "All of the other ice creams I have in here, and you just so happen to pick the best." I say as I quickly put a coaster on the counter before she sets the carton down. A smirk comes across her face because of that. "And that's why I eat it." "You eat it because it's the best, or because that's my favorite?" "Because it's your favorite. I like cookie dough." I make a mental note to remember to get cookie dough for her the next time.

"So, what's going on with Evelyn?" Her name even gives me the chills. That girl is getting on my last nerve. "She wants to get married," I tell her. Neira breaks out into a fit of laughter. I look at her. Humph, I never noticed how white her teeth are. I mean, criminals aren't always clean. But Neira, she's always cleansed and smelling nice. "Well, are ya gonna do it?" She asks after finally calming down. I snap myself out of my daze. "Do what?" She rolls her eyes then says, "Get married. Are ya gonna marry her?" I shake my head and suck off the remaining of ice cream from her spoon before putting it in the sink. "Of course not. She's screwing some dunce as if I don't know about it. And well, you know what I'm doing. Plus, I can't even stand the sound of her voice." "I think you're at least gonna get engaged to her. You guys are cute together." I turn to my right to look her in the face. "When did you meet Evelyn?" She stands up straight now. "Well, while I was on a run, I saw her coming out of this apartment building down on Eighth Street. She has blond hair with a pointy chin, right?" That is where Evelyn lives and she does have a pointy chin. "Yes, that's her," I say simply. "I didn't talk to her, if that's what you were thinking. We were on separate sides of the street. But she is pretty. Pretty as a doll." I take a sip of sparkling water. "I've seen hookers who look better than her," I grumble. Neira chortles at that. "Well, I'll catch ya later Patrick. You know, got people ta kill." I dismiss her with a wave, but she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before she shuffles out. When the door closes, that's when I give a little smile. Now I'm left here alone. Again.

The alarm clock woke me up this morning which is odd. I don't really wake up to that damned thing. I always wake up ten to fifteen minutes earlier than it. But, nonetheless, I fall into my normal morning routine. You know, exercise, brushing my teeth, setting out my new black Armani suit, putting on my face mask, hopping in the shower, and then grabbing a Special K bar. Hey, those things are good, and nutritious. Great, my driver is finally on time. "Hello, Mr. Bateman. How is your morning, Mr. Bateman?" Burns the driver asks. "Just started, Burns. How could I tell you?" I say before swiftly getting into the backseat. His hesitation is clear. "Of course, sir." He shuts my door then gets into the front seat. "Do you want me to pick up Ms. Williams first sir, or just head right to work-" "Now why the hell would we do that, Burns? Shut up and drive to work," I interrupt. Another pause and then the starting up of the Buick fill my ears. "Certainly, sir." _"I think you're at least gonna get engaged to her." _Neira's words ring clear in my ears. Those words send chills down my spine. Maybe because I know she's right. I can never resist a cute girl. But, it's just that Evelyn annoys me so bad!

"We're here sir," Burns says. I nod my head in acknowledgement. "Well, are you going to get the door, Burns? Or do I have to do it?!" He scurries out of the front seat, and then opens my door in impressive time. "Sorry, sir." He says as if he's out of breath. "Yes, you should be. Oh! And Burns, I understand that you just had a baby, correct?" I ask. He nods his head hurriedly. Old runt better not be rushing me. "You keep messing up like this, that baby of yours will be sleeping in a box. Understood?" There's terror in his eyes. Humph, I never noticed how much he looks like the guy that I killed two months ago. I think he was in real estate. Can't be sure though. "Understood, sir," Burns says. I turn on my heel then enter into the building that my father built.

Right when I get to my floor, here comes Craig with that dumb smile on his face. "Hey, Bateman. You remember that brunette from last night? Yeah, I got her back to my place. And boy is she flexible. She actually-" I didn't even let him finish. "Not now, Craig." I brush pass him and head straight to my office. There's a faint knock at my door, and I know exactly who it is. Jean, my assistant, who's absolutely in love with me. I rub my eyes with my thumb and index finger. "Yes, Jean." She comes in a moment later. "Mr. Bateman-" "Call me Patrick, Jean." "Uh, ok, Patrick. Ms. Williams called-" "Jesus, Jean. If you can call me by my first name, why in the hell would I want you to call her by her last name? Now continue." "S-sorry, Patrick. Evelyn called for you about twenty minutes ago, saying that she wanted to have lunch with you at Morton's. Would you like me to confirm that?" Ugh, just her name is nauseating. I shake my head. "No, call her back and tell her that we're going to dinner instead." I say. Jean writes it down quickly. "And would you like me to make reservations at Morton's, Patrick?" Knowing her she wants to go to that new restaurant, Dorsia. But I just can't get a fucking reservation there. They put me on the waiting list until April. April. That's four months from now! "Yes, that would be fine, Jean." I tell her. She then turns around to leave. "Oh and Jean," I hear myself say. She turns back around, facing me. "Yes, Patrick?" I just love the way my name rolls off her tongue. "You look nice today. I like your hair. Very prestigious." I say. Jean starts to smile and tuck a piece of blond hair behind her ear. "Thanks, Patrick. You look nice today, too. Well, you always do." She says back. I know I look good. No one has ever complained otherwise. But I nod to thank her for the compliment, but at the same time dismissing her. The door soon closes.

On my desk there is a planner that appears new to me everyday. Of course Jean puts it here, so I know what to expect for the day. It says that I have a meeting today at ten on the sixteenth floor, then another meeting at one forty five on the tenth floor, and my last meeting will be at three. My blood is boiling. Who the fuck schedules a meeting at one forty five? What the hell is a "one forty five"? It should be at one o'clock, one thirty, or if you're just going to be late, schedule the Goddamn meeting at two. But not at one forty five. I pick up the phone and dial Jean's desk number. She picks up on the first ring. "Yes, Patrick?" "Jean do you know who scheduled the _one forty five _meeting?" Some papers are shuffling on the other end. "Umm, it says here that it was Mr. Sty- Jarred Styles that made that meeting. Why? Is it a problem Patrick?" The concern in her voice almost makes me have a heart. I stress the word 'almost'. "No, no problem, Jean. Thank you, I'll be there." I hang up. This one forty five business is going to stick to me for the rest of the day.

One twenty five comes and I'm at my desk, eating a panini from the restaurant down the street. Never will I digest any of those low class sandwiches that the old cunt from downstairs serves. I mean, come on, she can barely speak English. All of a sudden, my phone rings. A number I don't recognize appears on the caller I.D. I pick it up, because, well, I have nothing else to do. "Hello?" "What are ya doing?" Neira. "How did you get this number, Neira?" She chuckles on the other end. Oh, God I hope no one is hearing this conversation. Luis eavesdropped on me last year. I haven't felt safe since. "I stole one of your _expensive_ business cards. Tell me, who does these wonderful cards?" **Robert Donahue & Co. **"Why are you calling here?" Her laughter subsides. "Chill out, Bateman, will ya? I got bored so I thought I'd call my buddy, Patrick. And I know you're not doing nothing at the moment but sitting at your fancy schmancy desk, eating your fancy overly expensive panini. So, you might as well talk to me." I hastily bite off a piece of my panini as I hear her talk. How does she read me like this? "Don't you have a job to do, Lace?" I finally ask. "Ohh. Watch out, we got a bad ass over here. Using last names and shit. But yes, I do have a job, _Bateman,_ and I'm doing it right now." "I don't hear any gun shots." "Well, that's because sir, I'm waiting on this old coot to get outta his house," Neira explains. House? "Where are you?" "Right outside of Manhattan, sittin' in my car. So, you and Evelyn have any plans for your engagement party?" I roll my eyes. "Shut it already, Neira." She grunts, "I'm just sayin'. You guys are gonna make it official... for a bit. Then you're going to call it off for some dumb reason." Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if that turns out happening. It arouses me in some odd way because if I get Evelyn's hopes up, then crush them like a grape, she'd be heart broken. Which is priceless. It brings a smile to my face. "You think you're coming by tonight?" I ask. Neira moans, thinking about it. "Probably not, busy schedule tonight." I shrug my shoulders. Might be spending it with Evelyn anyways. I look at the clock, it's one thirty seven now. "I got a meeting to get to. I'll talk to you, umm, whenever, I guess." I say to her. "Alright then, sailor. Go uhh, be all professional." She says. I hang up the phone then dial Jean. "Yes?" She answers. "Jean, get me an engagement ring from Kelly's Jewelers. Eighteen carats at the most, got that?" I tell her. "Yes, Patrick. The ring will be at your desk no later than three." "Wonderful."

"What was up with you earlier?" Craig asks as I sit down. I slowly breathe in and out, trying so hard not to bash his head into this cherry wood table. "Nothing was wrong with me, Craig." I finally say. "Oh, well it's just ya kinda just ignored me." Ignored him? If I'd ignored him I wouldn't have talked to him! But I did. I grip the sides of my chair, trying so hard to control my anger. "I didn't ignore you _McDermott, _if I'd done that, I would've walked right passed you without saying anything, but I did. I just didn't want to hear the story of the acrobat from last night." Craig scoots his chair away from me and starts talking to Marcus. That's when Jarred Styles waltzes his ass into the room. His black rimmed Gucci glasses clash with his navy blue Audigier suit. What a clown. Making a meeting at fucking _one forty five_. I look at my diamond encrusted sterling silver watch and it reads one. Fifty. Three. Sorry, I'm just trying to get a quick meditation session in before I hop over this table and rip his eyes out. Woo sah. Woo sah. Like I said earlier, this guy could have just scheduled this pointless meeting at two o'clock. Wasting my time like this, shame on him. I could've still been on the phone with Neira, arguing with her and eating my panini. But no, I'm here at one fifty three. No, my apologies, it's one fifty four now. Let's hear what this prick has to say. "Well, since we're all settled now, we should get started. Now I called this meeting regarding this Christmas party-" Like I told you, pointless, and kind of gay. What kind of dudes just sit around talking about a fucking Christmas party? But the guy has the right to enjoy his last few hours at a party. Because once that party is over, his life is over. It's his own fault, really. Making a stupid meeting at one forty five and not showing up till one fifty three. Fooey.

"So how was your day?" Evelyn asks as she looks around Morton's as if she's looking for someone. Better not, I'm all she needs. "Well Styles called this unnecessary meeting regarding the Christmas party-" "Patrick, that's not unnecessary. He did the right thing calling a meeting about the party. I was just about to ask you about that anyways." I slice into my rare steak. Blood oozes out. It takes everything in me not to just lick the whole plate up. Be normal, be normal, and be normal. "It's going to be held at the Carrie Hotel on the upper east side. Christmas Eve," I say simply. Her eyes light up. "Oh! I love the Carrie Hotel!" When did she ever go to the Carrie Hotel? I never took her there. "When did you go?" I ask. Her smile drops instantly. "Oh, umm, well it was way before I met you, honey." This blond nit wit thinks I can't tell when she's lying to me? I slice into my steak, making more blood come out. I chew slowly, savoring each bite. Evelyn's eyes travel down to my bloody plate, disgust written on her face. "Ew, Patrick. How can you eat your steak like that? That's almost raw," she says. I smirk a little. She's trying to change the subject as if I don't know what she was doing in that hotel. "It's not almost raw, Evelyn. It's medium rare," I say. She wickedly laughs as if what I just said was funny. "I think you should take that back, baby, because if they call that medium rare, then I'm screwing Timothy Bryce." My fork falls out of my hand, making a big clank onto my plate. Of course she's having an affair with Timothy! And this is medium fucking rare! "Then I guess you're screwing Timothy," I say simply then pick my fork back up. She looks insulted. "Well, anyways, I just think-" Before she finishes her sentence, I toss a black velvet box at her. "Here, open it," I say. Evelyn catches it then opens it. Her eyes light up when she sees what's inside. An eighteen carat silver ring. "We're getting married?!" She exclaims. I roll my eyes but nod anyway. She leans over and kisses me on the lips. "Yeah, yeah, we're getting married. Don't make a big deal out of it," I say. "Oh when should we have it? Where should we have it?! I'm so excited!" I'm starting to grow a headache. All I want to do is go home. This place is annoying me, and the person I'm with is making it even worse. "Come on, Evelyn. Let's leave this dump," I say while getting up. She's too occupied with her new jewelry to object.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up and Evelyn is right beside me. Do I like it? Of course not. I get up and head out into the living room to do my morning crutches. Why Neira is here, I have no idea. "Why are you here, Neira?!" I silently yell. Her hand quickly slips out of the bottom of my sofa that's more expensive than her. "My revolver's missing," she whispers back. Great, now a stray gun is loose in my apartment. "Get out of here, Neira! Evelyn's here. I'll call you when I find it, now go," I start pushing her towards the door.

"Who's this, Patrick?" Evelyn says sleepily. I have to think of something quick. "I'm Neira, Patrick's maid. The help, if you will," Neira says while reaching over to shake hands with Evelyn. They shake hands and then Evelyn looks back at me. "Why are you pushing her out, Patrick? Let her do her job, come on in," she says. Neira passes me and sticks her tongue out as she does it. I give a little laugh then say, "It's not your place, Evelyn." Evelyn laughs back. "What's yours is mine, right?" Neira whips back around. "You two are engaged?!" Oh God.

"Why, yes. Here's the ring." Evelyn nearly shoves the ring into Neira's face. From the sun hitting the ring, shades of light shines onto Neira's face. "So beautiful." I just now notice that she's faking an accent. Sounds Nigerian. "Thanks, he proposed yesterday at Morton's." Evelyn boasts. "That steak house downtown?" "Yes, that one." Neira starts cleaning/searching for her revolver again. "I was wondering when he was gonna propose, he's been talking about proposing for months." My jaw clenches all on its own.

Evelyn turns around to look at me. "Is this so, Patrick?" She asks. I contemplate if I should kill Neira later on. I laugh nervously. "Yes, yes. It is true. Neira used to pick cotton and dig for diamonds back in Africa, so I thought there's nobody else to ask better about diamonds than Neira herself," I lie. Neira's eyes narrow on me, her anger rising as well. A smirk is on my face because of it. "Well, thank you Neira for making the right choice for him. You did a wonderful job," Evelyn says before she leaves for my room. "Africa? Cotton? How racist can you get?" Neira whispers hastily. I shrug my shoulders. "You had the accent, I just ran with it." She walks away, looking for her gun again. "A-hole." "Yeah, whatever. Just make this quick," I say as I walk into my room.

"When did you get a maid?" Evelyn asks as she puts on her beige skirt. "Five months ago," I say quickly. "Mmhmm. She's pretty, I like her accent. But is she your type?" I stop setting out my clothes to look at her. "What are you talking about?" I ask. "Well, I've heard of men having affairs with their African maids." This woman is crazy. She's sleeping with one of my colleagues and is now accusing _me_ of sleeping with Neira. She's delusional. "I'm not _sleeping_ with anyone but you. So you shouldn't be worrying about anything, _Evelyn._ So calm down," I say. Relief washes over her. "Good, because I'm a classic, I could never be exotic like her." Classic my ass. "Yeah well, I'm about to get into the shower," I say while leaving. "Neira I hope you're out of here!" I say. The front door shuts. I guess she found her gun.

I finally got the hang of twirling a pen in my hand. Yes, my job is that boring, that I entertain myself by twirling a pen. Jean comes into my office with her notepad. "Patrick, Lois Anderson wants to have lunch today at Globe-" "Cancel it," I say. "What do you want me to tell her?" "Just tell her I said no and be done with it." She writes that down. I don't know what it is about Jean, but she's cute. An odd cute though. You know that kind of cute that you don't want to tell your friends that you like her because she isn't on the same level as you. But at the same time I would like to see her head explode. God, I don't know how Jean and Neira have made it this far without me even hurting them. These are the main women that I spend most of my time with. Have I ever fantasized about executing them? Of course! Plenty of times! But will I ever do it? Maybe not. Do I know why? I'm still trying to figure that part out.

Before Jean leaves, I call her name out and she turns around. "Yes, Patrick?" "You're so pretty, why cover it up with those dingy clothes?-" I reach into my pocket to grab one of my credit cards and pass it to her. "Here, when you get off from work today, go buy some clothes. Preferably on the east side. They have wonderful clothes for women over there," I tell her. She takes the card reluctantly. "O-ok. Thanks Patrick. Is there, uh, a limit?" "No, buy whatever you want, as much as you want." "Thanks again, Patrick." I nod my head and get back to "work". I know I could've been a little bit nicer to her. Insulting her wardrobe and all. But she had to know that it wasn't that all appealing. If I'm going to be at this office with God knows how many men, I want to look at something with nice, toned, hairless legs for the next eight or so hours. You can't blame me for that.

By the time I get off from work, that tingle all over my body starts up again. That tingle for bloodlust. The tingle is strong in my right hand. My killing hand. Do I know that this is wrong? Of course I do. That's why I do it in secrecy. Burns pulls up, at last, and I get in. "Hello, Mr. Bateman. How was your day?" "It was work, now get in the car and drive," I spat at him. I know Burns doesn't like me, but who cares, he's the driver. "Straight to your place, sir?" He asks. Oh, God. I wish he didn't even ask that. "No, not tonight, Burns. Head up to 99th and Dart Road." There's hesitancy in his mannerisms. It's a bad neighborhood, yes. But that is one of the places that none of my colleagues will ever go. This tingle needs to leave, and this is the only way that I can take care of it effectively. Please, don't judge.

We pull up to a corner on Dart Road. There are five or so whores on this street. Not really my type, but one of them is blond. You can't go wrong with a blond, right? I roll down my window and call the blond over. She has loose curled shoulder length hair with a pointy nose. She's the perkiest of them all. Her grimy hands sit on my car. I politely remove them, and her smile falters a little. "So, you looking for a good time?" Her jersey trash accent is unmistakable. You can tell Jersey people from a mile away. That fake tan kind of helped too. "Matter of fact, I am. Get in the car," I tell her. She pops her gum, which irritates the hell out of me, and gets into the car. "Would you like a glass of champagne?" I ask, holding up the bottle that is worth more than her. "Sure, I love champagne." The cheap stuff you get from the liquor store does not count, sweetheart. But, I pour her some in a glass. "Mmm, this is some good stuff," she says. Well, of course it is. It's an eight thousand dollar bottle. It better be exquisite. "So, what's your name?" She asks. Great, she doesn't know my name. "Patrick. Patrick Bateman, what's yours?" Ha! Like I care. "Nikki. Nikki Rollins." Good enough name.

"Ooh, nice place. So... white." Nikki says as we enter into the living room. "Thanks," I say. Nikki turns her head around to look at me. "Where are we doing this?" She asks. I point to the hallway leading to my room. "My bedroom." Don't want to ruin the sofa. She follows me into my room. "Wow, you must make A LOT of money," she says as she looks around my room. I start taking off my shirt and shoes. I just want to get down to business. Have my fun with her and then toss her body in my hall closet until I can find a place to destroy their bodies. Neira might know a place. Nikki starts to follow my lead and discards of her cheap clothes also.

"Oh, you, uh, wanna record it?" Nikki asks. I turn my head to look at her from the camera. Of course, I want to see myself kill her over and over again. "Yes, you don't want me to?" Like I actually care. It's not like she's going to be alive to ever see it. She looks uncomfortable, and then brightens up. "Well, you're cute so I guess it's ok," she says. I'm insulted. I'm way more than cute. Handsome, stunning, hell, gorgeous even. But not cute. I cock my head left and right then get on the bed where Nikki has made herself comfortable.

We do it from the back because I can't bear to look at her face through the whole thing. I look at the camera, smiling, as I reach under my silk covered pillow to grab the serrated knife. I have the knife in my hand, but I don't know where to stab. Hmm. To be such a cheap whore, she actually feels good inside. I clear my head and finally pick a place to stab her. I raise my hand over my head, and crash it down onto the back of her neck. She lets out a shriek before I muffle her scream and continue to stab her repeatedly. Blood splashes everywhere. On my sheets, my face, the headboard, and the floor. Her blood feels warm against my skin. I kind of like it, until I remember who it's spilling out of, the scum of the earth, that's who. Some of her brain is starting to fall out now. She's been dead for maybe a minute or so. I close my eyes and just imagine that it's Paul Allen that I am stabbing. The thought arouses me. I soon realize that I am still stationed inside of her. I slide out, still hard. The knife hits the floor and makes a loud *CLANK* noise. My chest heaves in and out heavily for awhile, just staring at the mess that I've created. Parts of her brain are hanging off the side of her head. A small smile makes its way across my satisfied face. The tingling in my right hand gone. Finally. "Yes," I say to myself.

I collect myself and start cleaning up. I start with her body. Wrap that in a big plastic bag and drag it into the hall closet. God, I can't even remember her name anymore. Oh well, doesn't even matter. As I walk back into my room, I see how much of a mess what's-her-face's blood has caused. It's all over the place! Well, I should be used to this by now. So, I move quickly.

It takes me close to three hours to clean up fully. Including myself. I settle back down onto my new set of sheets and look at the clock. It's ten-thirty-seven at night. Jesus, it's early. I'm not in the mood to go out for drinks with those sorry excuses for men. Evelyn plain old annoys me. Neira, well she takes a lot of energy to deal with. Energy that I do not have. Courtney may be open. Who am I kidding, she is!

"Hellooo?" Her words are slurred. She must be doped up on something she shouldn't even have in her possession. "Pumpkin, we're going to Dorsia tonight at eleven thirty," I command. There's laughter on the other end. "When did you get reservations to Dorsia? And can I get a hello, Patrick?" She asks. I roll my eyes; I don't have time for this. "Be ready this time, Courtney. I don't feel like waiting on you like last time." I say that before hanging up.

I hop into one of my leisure suits. A black Armani suit with black Dolce shoes. Classic. Burns comes around with the car five minutes after I make the call. Good, he's starting to learn. "To Courtney's, correct sir?" He asks as he gets into the driver's seat. "That's correct, Burns."

When we get in front of her condo building, she's nowhere to be found. I roll my eyes and get out my portable phone. God, they need to make these things smaller. "Hhhellllooo?" Courtney slurs into the phone. "Are you dressed?" I ask her hurriedly. "Uhh, yeaaaahh, I'll be right down, baby."

I'm contemplating going up there and slicing her throat right then and there when Courtney walks outside, looking for my car. Burns gets out the car to wave her over. She stumbles into the backseat with me with a laugh. "Heyyyy, bayyyybbbyyy!" Courtney slurs as her hand rubs my chest. I remove it and say, "Jesus, Courtney. Sober up, will you? We're about to be in a public place." She gets off of me and sits in a pouting position. "You neverrr told me how you got reservations to Dorsia." I roll my eyes. I didn't actually. Like I told you earlier, my reservations aren't open till April. We're actually going to Globe, but she doesn't have to know that. "I have connections all over the place, Courtney. You should know that by now."

"This is Dorsia?" Courtney asks as she takes her seat at Globe. "Yep," I answer in a clipped tone. "Doesn't look like it." I take a long steadying breath and look up at her. "Have you ever been _inside_ Dorsia before?" "No." She lulls her head around as she says the word. "So you shouldn't even know," I pick up one of the menus and find something for Courtney to eat. When I find what she'll eat, I read it off to her. "You'll have the chowder soup with the roasted duck. Understand?" "Mmm, yes. Sounds great, Patrick," Courtney mumbles before she slumps in her chair and passes out. There's no reason to even try to get her up. She's out.

"So...how was your last night?" Bryce asks in the middle of a morning meeting. I can feel my face contorting into something not far from a frown. "Good, why?" He shrugs. God, I hate it when this schmuck shrugs. He looks like Groucho Marx when he does. "I dunno, it's just that my guy Brent Wells told me that he saw you at Globe with Courtney Rawlinson. But I said that couldn't be Patrick Bateman because he wouldn't dare step into that out-of-date place." My jaw tenses and my hands shake under the table to get around his thick neck. I happen to like Globe. But I guess I can't go back there anymore. "Please, Bryce. I wouldn't be caught dead at Globe. That place was hot in what, 1985?" I cover up my anger with an upbeat, out-of-body sounding voice. Bryce's eyes light up as he says, "That's exactly what I said. But you didn't doubt being with Courtney. Were you, Bateman?" I'm shaking now. Not from fear, no. But the need to slice his neck open. Forget about strangling this prick. "She's a pill popping whore. That might be your type, but not mine." A smile comes across his crummy little face. "Actually, Bateman, it is." I seriously don't know how to respond to that. "Well...good for you."

"So what's this business about Bateman fucking Courtney Rawlinson?" McDermott asks as we sit in Lepue's for lunch. I personally hate this place, but everyone else likes to go. "McDermott, business is something that's real. So why are you calling Courtney and I being together real?" I ask as I take a bite of this filet whatever. McDermott looks unfazed by my comments. "That's what's going around the office, Bateman," he responds carelessly. I look over to Bryce who's enjoying every minute of this. "Why are you going around the office with this bullshit that I thought we cleared up this morning, Bryce?" I ask in a clipped tone. "I told them before we talked, Patrick. My bad, man." I'm about to say something else before Van Patten comes back to the table, flustered.

"Dammit, they don't have a good bathroom to do coke in," he pouts. Really, a grown man pouting. Well, I can't really judge on that subject since I've caught myself pouting a few times. But I definitely didn't look as pathetic. "Of course not. Why would ya even try?" Thank God, we're off the Courtney subject. That makes me wonder...why isn't Caruthers here with us? He's usually already been asked me a billion questions about my personal life and stationed in the seat next to me. "Just save your stash for when we go to Vixen tonight." I get myself back into the conversation. I hate it when I drift off into my imaginary world where I kill everyone. Wait...that kinda is real life. "Yeah, you're right. I probably would've ended up sniffing the whole ball anyway." "Yeah, and we all know that you have to get back to crunching numbers," I add. It's quiet around the table and for a second. I contemplate about bursting into tears right then and there. But then everyone around the table starts to laugh. I let out a deep breath and start to laugh with them.

"Patrick, Patrick, are you even listening to me? I've been talking about the wedding for the last hour and you've yet to make an appearance into this conversation." I thought after being with her for so long that her voice would get less annoying. But it just seems to get even more annoying. But calm down, Bateman. Just wait this out for a little while longer and then dump her. Bam! I'll never have to see her face again. Hmm, I wonder what Neira's up to. Haven't seen or heard from her in a week. I don't miss her if that's what you're thinking. Just...wondering is all. "Evelyn, I don't really care what you do with the wedding. Isn't my job to just show up?" I ask carelessly. She purses her lips. God, I can't believe that used to be a turn on. "Well, I thought you'd like some creative input. But I guess not. Would your father be willing to come?" Now it's time for me to purse my lips. I hate my father, and she should know this. That fat bastard sent me off to boarding school the first chance he got and didn't bother checking up on me. It's a wonder I didn't turn out worse. But what's worse when you're a white collar serial killer?

"Sorry, I just thought I'd ask. It's just that you two seemed fine the last time you were together," Evelyn tries to explain herself. "Key word, seemed. Doesn't mean that we were. We act cordial toward each other because we think that we have to. I have to be nice to him because he's my father and gave me this great paying job. And he's decent to me because that's what he thinks is expected of him. What about if I bring Neira to the wedding?" I throw the last part in just to see what she'd say. Her pen stops moving as she thinks about this. She's not smiling nor frowning. A neutral look. "Umm, are you sure about that, Patrick?" Evelyn asks. I shrug my shoulders as I take a sip of sparkling water. "Why not? She's a friend of mine. We should bring our friends together to celebrate this wonderful day of ours, right?" She looks flustered now. "Well, aren't you afraid that she wouldn't...fit in with our group of friends?" I think I know where this is going. "What do you mean, fit in?" I act confused. "I mean, well, she's a housekeeper. A-and we all have corporate American jobs. And not to be closed-minded or anything, but she'd be the only black person there." Bingo! That was the part I was waiting on. I can't believe I'm engaged to a racist. Wait till Neira hears this.

"Ya missed me?" I walk into my apartment to see Neira laid out on my expensive couch with hopefully the cookie dough ice cream I'd gotten for her. For some reason, I'm elated to see her. "No." I take off my tie and head for my bedroom. As I pass her, her face forms a frown. Her footsteps follow mine. "Yes ya did. I missed you," she says. A small smile is on my face for hearing that. But of course I make sure that she cannot see it. "Well then, I guess the correct thing to say is that you missed me. And not the other way around." Neira hops on my bed and immediately sinks into it. Images of that whore Nicole or Jenny, or some other trashy name flashes back to me. I shake my head to clear them away.

"Aw come on, Bateman. Don't be such a white collar. You missed me and that's that. Just admit it and I'll leave ya alone." Ah she's seen me naked before, I drop my pants and grab my towel. As always, she follows me into the bathroom. "Maybe a little." She squeals with excitement. "Yay! Bateman has feelings! So how has your week been?" Neira props herself onto the vanity, eating her ice cream while I get into the shower. "I found out that Evelyn is a racist." I look straight at her to watch her reaction. She frowns as she eats the cookie dough bits. "What did I do to her?" Neira asks. "I asked her if you could come to the wedding and she said that wouldn't be a great idea because you'd be the only colored one there. Oh! And because you don't have a corporate job," I explain to her as I wash my hair.

Her smile starts to form as she hears my story. "Now I'm not mad. Becuz I bet she was sitting down with a pen and pad in hand, having a whole conversation to herself about this made up wedding. I wouldn't come anyways." I snort. "Yes you would." She rolls her eyes. "I might stay for the cake then leave." "Exactly."

"She also thought that we were having an affair, too," I tell Neira as we sit in my bed and watch TV. She turns toward me with a big amused smile on her face. "Really? Why?" "The first time you guys met and we said that you were my maid. She went on and on about how she knows people who've had affairs with their exotic African maids." She stares at me for a while longer before she starts to burst with laughter. "She-she called me exotic?! Funniest shit I've ever heard!" I start to join in on her laughing.

It's not like it was planned, but Neira slept over. Nothing happened if that's what you're thinking. I don't think we're really each other's type, anyway. We just spent the whole night talking and watching the old movie channel, I forget the name. And, well, we both just fell asleep.

I woke up around six o'clock, before my alarm to just watch her sleep. That may be creepy, but as long as I've known her, I've never seen her sleep. Isn't that what friends do, one sleeps and the other sneaks to watch the other sleep? I don't know. Well, she's not really my friend. She's the closest thing I have to a friend, but not a friend. I must remind myself to look up the definition of a friend. Sorry, I'm a child of divorce.

"You coulda told me it was morning," Neira grumbles as she makes her way into the kitchen where I am. I look up from my tea and newspaper to see her bed hair and rumpled clothes. I don't drink coffee because there are too many calories in it and it can ruin teeth and sleeping habits. "I have to get myself up, Neira. Didn't know that you needed to be told to, also," I tell her as I fold the newspaper then put my cup in the sink. "Oh, I forgot. Big business man has so much to do. Can't be bothered with the colored maid's problems." She's mocking Evelyn, I smile. "You gotta be gone by the time I get back. I might have someone over tonight." The itch is back. "Uh-oh." She knows. I shut the front door behind me and head to work.


End file.
